Larceny, and Other Loki Friendly Words
by M Elizabeth Penn
Summary: A series of random, non-related drabbles and ficlets concerning possible interactions between one god of mischief and the queen of tasers.
1. Identity

She helped him find his identity once more, when he had lost all hope of recovering it ever again. He had been drifting (in more ways than one), and she grounded him. Albeit, _after_ he was physically grounded, the process of which he would not recommend to anyone. Travelling between worlds without the help of the Bifrost tended to end in broken bones, particularly when one has fallen through a wormhole. But she picked up the pieces and put them back together again. And this configuration made sense.

Before, when on the bridge and locked in combat with Thor, he had been teetering on the brink of madness and despair and megalomania. That being had been shattered into utter ruin with his rather unorthodox descent into Midgard. With any luck, that form of him wouldn't be making a reappearance anytime soon. But then, he wasn't exactly on the best terms with luck, was he?

She had found him in the desert, bloodied and broken. He saw her blurrily through a haze of pain as she bent over him assessing his injuries. For a moment, his vision cleared as he locked eyes with her, and he saw sympathy as well as… fear. For him? _Of_ him? He wasn't sure, but at that moment the agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived, and when they moved him the sheer agony caused his jaw to clench and his eyes to roll back in his head as blackness descended and oblivion overtook him.


	2. Tased

"Egad, woman! I do not intend to harm you!"  
That's when the heel of her boot connects with his instep, causing him to loosen his grip on her. Big mistake. She uses the opportunity to slip down through his arms encircling her, giving him an elbow to the groin on her way down. Which doesn't faze him that much anyway. It's the fact that it distracts him long enough for her to tase him that is his downfall. Erik and Jane can do nothing except stand by with mouths agape in shock, as Darcy lays the god of mischief out flat.


	3. Thaw

"You mean, you're willing to place your life into my hands?" He was definitely looking at her with confusion now. Frustrated with herself, she looked down.  
"Dude, I trust you." She paused before adding half under her breath, "Despite my better judgment, I might add." She flicked her eyes back up to meet his, just in time to see the surprise dawning on his face. It flickered there for a moment before he mastered his expression once more, but not before Darcy saw the barely perceptible thawing in his eyes. In a show of feigned indifference, to allow him to save face, she gave his hand a hearty pat, saying a touch too loudly, "It'll probably come back around to bite me in the ass…"  
He gave a brusque nod, the slightly bitter expression back on his face again. Something in her heart cracked at the sight of it.


	4. Vivisection

He has to make her believe him. He cannot afford for her not to. She will be on the wrong side in this battle if she remains at his side. In another world and another time, this blossoming… _something_ probably would have become something much more. She has the capacity to heal and piece together so much within him that he had thought was beyond repair. But he is a complete and utter fool if he believes for one second that her staying with him will end in anything but her being injured, or worse, killed. He **will not** allow that to be added to the things that still weigh on his conscience. Not if he can help it.

So he rips her heart to shreds, word by agonizing word. He tells her she was nothing but an amusing pet, to be discarded at will. He tells her he's never cared about her. That she is nothing. The words tear out of him with wrenching pain, stained with his own lifeblood, and he sees the agony as they hit home like poisoned darts, piercing her to the marrow. He cannot look her in the eye, because then she'll see the part of him that is screaming, is desperate to tell her, "Don't believe it! It's not true!"

After he has finished his verbal vivisection of her heart, he sees her swallow hard as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. The only outward sign of her pain is the wetness currently making its way down her face, from eyes brimming over. He meets her eyes for just a split second, and he regrets it instantly, because he knows the look she gives him will haunt him for the rest of his life (however long that may be). Then she takes one small step forward and places a hand on his chest. Years of deception allows him to remain with his features schooled into a mask of indifference, but he fears his wildly beating heart may betray him.

She raises herself up on her toes in front of him, and he sees what she intends to do and turns his face away, eyes squeezed shut, so that her kiss lands somewhere in the region of his jawline. He knows if he allows her that one kiss where it was intended, all of his defences will crumble away, and he knows exactly where _that_ will lead. There is a puff of breath that stirs his hair, as she sighs softly, then the pressure of her hand disappears and she is gone.


	5. Incognito

She didn't know where the black cat came from. He just showed up on her doorstep during a rainstorm, doing a pretty decent impression of a drowned rat and yowling pitifully. Jane had tried to keep her from bringing him into the apartment, but had finally caved after a couple hours of said yowling. So Darcy had brought him in, wrapped in a towel. Once he was dried off, she dug a can of tuna out of the depths of the cupboard (and hoped to god it hadn't gone bad or something) and put it in one of the cereal bowls and placed it on the floor. The cat inhaled the food as if he was never going to eat again, and then stalked over to the corner and stayed there the rest of the evening performing his post-meal toilette and avoiding her. It wasn't until much later during the night that she woke up to a furry body snuggled up to her side. She supposed that would do for a thank you.

XXXXXXX

Darcy was woken from a sound sleep by something heavy falling on her. She sat up with a start, displacing The Cat who had jumped from the chest of drawers right on top of her. He now sat on the floor, glaring balefully and blinking at her in that slow lazy way of his. Darcy glanced at the clock. It was about fifteen minutes until the time she usually fed him. Of course. There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast. Well, he was just going to have to wait, because she still intended to sleep for at least 15 more minutes. About five minutes later, she was once again woken up, this time because the dratted cat was now chewing on her toes.

"Fine! Fine! I'll freaking feed you!" she exclaimed as she threw back the covers and stomped all the way to the kitchen. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn The Cat was smirking at her as she opened his can of tuna.

XXXXXXX

Darcy had had a pretty crap day. It had started out with the coffee-maker breaking, and the lack of caffeine meant that she and Jane fought on the way to work which escalated to them not speaking to each other. Then, at work it was nothing but boring paperwork and boring lectures from Director Fury. Then she got in a shouting match with Clint Barton over some offhand remark about her informal clothing, which led to Director Fury instating a dress-code. So on top of everything, Darcy had the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel glaring daggers into her back the rest of the day. When they got home, Jane and Darcy still weren't talking, and Jane went straight to her room and shut the door without so much as a how-do-you-do.

Darcy flopped down on the couch, tears already stinging her eyes and her throat tight. A meow called her attention to the floor at her feet. Through the blur of her tears she saw the Cat sitting with his tail curled around his feet and looking up at her solemnly. At that she truly did burst into tears, and she felt the couch next to her dip as he jumped up next to her. He butted her arm with his head, and she blindly reached out one hand to scratch behind his ears as she swiped at her streaming eyes with the other. After a bit, a thunderous purr erupted from his throat, which calmed her silent sobs and eventually lulled her to sleep.

A while later, she half woke to find a tall man with dark hair bent over her, his long nimble fingers brushing away a lock of hair from her face. Thinking it to be just a dream, she closed her eyes and fell back to sleep immediately. The next morning, she awoke fully clothed in her own bed with no memory as to how she had gotten there.

XXXXXXX

Darcy had just gotten home from another full day at S.H.I.E.L.D. and was desperate to get out of her dress pants and blazer, not to mention the underwire bra that was currently digging into her ribcage. She kicked off her high-heeled pumps at the door, and peeled off the blazer, tossing it over the arm of the armchair. She started working off her nylons while on her way to her bedroom closet, trying not to trip herself up in the process. It wasn't until she'd started peeling off her blouse that she realized she had a captive audience. The Cat was sitting in the hallway outside her bedroom door, staring at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. Quite frankly, it was creeping her out. She finished pulling the blouse over her head and flung it at him, sending him hissing and spitting back down the hall. She then closed the door and finished undressing in peace.

XXXXXXX

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" The man digging in her cupboard regarded her coolly before going back to his search, displacing cans of soup and boxes of Rice-a-Roni in his quest for whatever it was he was looking for. He was unbelievably tall, towering over her by at least a foot, if not two. His black hair was swept back from his forehead, just barely brushing his shoulders, and it highlighted the ivory pallor of his skin. If she hadn't been so surprised to find him in her kitchen, she would have thought him devastatingly handsome.  
"Why, I live here," he informed her in a clipped British accent, his tone suggesting she really ought to know better.  
"Like hell, you do!" she retorted angrily. "And what are you doing digging through my cupboards?"  
He regarded her with a Look that she knew she'd seen somewhere, but she couldn't quite place it. "I am trying to find tuna," he replied, as if it should be totally obvious.  
"_Tuna_?" She looked at him as if he just grew another head. _Oh jeez, he must be one of those crazies that somehow winds up in someone else's home and thinks they belong there…_ she thought with a vague sense of dawning horror.  
"Yes, tuna. I seem to have developed a taste for it in the past several months. I grew hungry, and since it seemed that you would not be returning anytime soon, I decided to take matters into my own hands. " He looked at her balefully, slowly blinking his impossibly jade green eyes at her. _Wait a minute…_ She stared at him rather stupidly as her brain struggled to catch up to what her intuition was already screaming at her. And then the light-bulb went off. Her jaw dropped, and she knew her eyes must look like a cartoon.

"Wha- You're the _Cat_?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

He flashed a row of big white teeth in response, and part of her (the part that wasn't completely hopping mad) knew she should probably be afraid. But then she remembered the undressing incident, her entire body went completely cold and then hot, and she clenched her fist with the sudden desire to hit him. Hard.

"You mean to tell me that you've been living in my home, _**watching**__ me_, without me knowing it? What kind of sick person does that?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, and her heart skipped several beats in response. "Do not test my patience, mortal. It was a necessary arrangement. When I showed up on your doorstep several months ago, I was severely injured from falling to Earth from Asgard." She gave a start at the mention of Asgard. "The only way for me to conserve enough energy for healing myself was to become a less complex life-form. As I did not relish trying to scratch out a living in the wild, I decided to find a home where I could, for a time, depend on someone else to provide for my most basic needs. That is all."

"Who are you really, then?" She tilted her head inquisitively, looking him up and down. He was dressed somewhat similar to Thor. Or at least how Thor had been dressed after Mye-myeh flew back into his hand during the battle with the Destroyer. And his bearing hinted at someone powerful, regal even. No… it couldn't be. He must have seen the understanding dawning in her eyes because he opened his mouth and then closed it again before finally replying.

"My name is Loki Laufeyson."

Even though she half expected the answer, she still couldn't keep the shock as well as a hint of fear from registering on her face for a split second. He saw it, of course, and his expression morphed from sardonic bitterness to mischievous glee within the space of a moment.

"Scared, little mortal?" He grinned, showing her those teeth again. But this time they goaded her into a sharp retort rather than fear.

"Why? Should I be?" She regretted the words the minute she said them.

He began to stalk towards her, an intent expression on his face that made her instinctively back up until her back hit the wall and she could go no further. His lithe movements reminded her of the Cat when he was stalking a catnip mouse. Except now he was a very tall, very handsome man, and instead of a catnip mouse his prey was _her_. She fumbled her Taser out of her purse, but with one wave of his hand, some invisible force knocked it clattering to the floor. Almost of their own accord, her hands came up to rest on the chest piece of his armour, as he stopped directly in front of her, very much in her personal space. A wry smirk pulled at one corner of his lips as he braced one arm against the wall right next to her head. He brought his other hand up to her neck, his palm cupping the side of her neck and his thumb poised above her pulse, which was fluttering madly (although from actual fear or some strange form of attraction, she couldn't tell). _What is he, some kind of vampire or something?_ a little voice in the back of her mind snarked.

Then, his smirk fading into something far more serious, he did something she definitely did not expect. His long fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, cradling the base of her skull, and he used his thumb to tip her chin upward as he bent down and kissed the breath out of her.


	6. Stitches

She finds him curled up in a shadowy corner of some disused room of the palace, his knees tucked up under his chin and his head resting against the wall.

"Loki?" she half murmurs, half whispers.

There is a pause in which he remains as he is, and then gradually, as if he has almost forgotten how, he raises his head. She cannot see his face for the shadows that keep his face under cover, but something doesn't seem right about it. His cheekbones look too big for his face, and his eyes look like sunken pools in their sockets. And there is something incredibly wrong with his mouth. She can't quite figure it out as she gingerly makes her way towards him. She absentmindedly sets the cup of water in her hand on an ornate wooden table near the door. He gets to his feet, moving slowly, almost like a person three times his age. As he rises to his full height, he moves into a shaft of light coming from one of the high windows, and it's then that she realises what seems so wrong about his mouth. It's been sewn shut.

She gasps audibly, the sound echoing in the vast empty space, and she sees him visibly flinch. There is a moment in which she doesn't move, cannot move. She is frozen there by the sight of those stark black stitches marring his beautiful mouth, trickles and streaks of dried blood completing the tableau. His eyes pierce her heart as well, the expression in them a mixture of resignation, pain, and immense sorrow. Finally, the sheer horror of it spurs her into action. She digs in the pocket of her jeans for her Swiss Army knife and edges out the scissors attachment with her fingernails. She rushes to him and puts her hand on his shoulder, cautiously, as if he's an unbroken colt that will shy away if she isn't careful. He flinches initially, but he quickly relaxes into her touch, practically leaning into her hand as if he's starved for physical contact. She exerts pressure on the shoulder, pushing him towards a slightly dusty armchair sitting against the wall that is swathed in a white sheet. She sits him down and then kneels in front of him with her scissors.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but this is going to hurt," she warns him gently as she lifts the scissors. His brow furrows and his jaw sets as she sees him visibly steel himself for the first snip. Gingerly, she snips the front of the stitches, the soft snick of the scissors the only noise in the room besides their breathing. "Part your lips for me best as you can, " she prompts, and she sees the tears spring to his eyes as he complies, little whimpers escaping from his throat. She tries not to hurt him as she wedges the scissors in between his lips to get to the backs of the stitches, but she knows she was mostly unsuccessful by his sharp intake of breath through his nose. Before continuing, she tenderly swipes at the tears making their way down his face with her thumb. Then, a few more snips remove the last barrier, and his mouth is finally free. She carefully picks at the severed thread, removing it from his lips, those wounded animal noises being ripped from his throat all the while, tugging at her heart. It seems an eternity before she's finally finished. He works his jaw back and forth as he swallows hard, trying to regain his composure. It's then that she remembers the cup of water that Frigga had pressed into her hand when she had gone in search of him in the first place. Almost as if she had known what was going to happen. She rushes to get it, and brings it back to him. He brings his hand up to cup hers around the glass as she tips it towards his lips. He only allows the water to touch his lips at first, wetting them. He works his tongue out and back in before bringing the glass back up so that he can take a proper drink. Once he's taken several swallows, she finally gives voice to the thoughts swirling through her head.

"Who did this to you?" she exclaims with dismay.

He opens his mouth gingerly to tell her, blood dripping from the newly opened puncture wounds. But his voice is nearly gone from months of disuse and he can barely croak out a word. It will take a while for him to regain the power of speech. His frustration is palpable, and she can see the gears working in his head as he casts about for a solution. She sees the idea dawning in his eyes as he reaches for her, putting his long fingers at her temples, and resting his forehead against hers.  
She just receives a brief flash of an image in her mind, but it's enough. Thor standing grimly by, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes. Frigga openly weeping on the floor, clinging to Thor's legs like a lifeline. And Odin, stern and clear eyed with needle and thread pulling the first loop taut.

She propels herself backwards from him, breaking the connection, tears overflowing and her hand over her mouth stifling her cry of horror. She is shaking her head in disbelief. She cannot believe that anyone could do such a horrible thing to someone, especially their own son. She weeps unabashedly for him, the sobs wracking her tiny frame. Through the haze of tears, she can see the telltale glimmer on his own face that betrays the fact that he is crying as well. She goes to him then, edging her way in between him and the arm of the chair. She gathers him into her arms, one hand cradling the side of his head as she brings him close. The glass of water slips from his grasp, forgotten, and shatters on the floor. They pay it no mind. They sit like that for hours, his silent tears dripping into her hair as she holds him, and the light deepens to an evening rosy hue.


End file.
